Robintine
by MissScorp
Summary: 'Caring seriously messes you up.' These are the thoughts of Damian Wayne as the young superhero attempts to figure out what type of Valentine's gift he can give to someone he's spent two years verbally ridiculing, but secretly cares deeply for. T for fluffiness and Batfamily bonding!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but my OFC of Raya Kean/Fenix and story concept...

**A/N**: This story can be likely taken as a bit of an AU considering that I am playing with the characters of both Bruce/Batman and Damian and trying to 'lighten' them from their standard darker comic characterizations.

Chronologically this story is number three in my Arkham series**...**

* * *

Damian Wayne sat staring at the cold, white world that was outside his bedroom window. He'd been sitting in this same spot for the last two hours in fact. And been telling himself for the last two hours that he really should get some sleep, that no matter the fact that he had been out late the night before that he would still have to attend his tutoring sessions in the morning. But he was unable to free himself of this restlessness plaguing him.

He finally gave up trying to sleep when the first streaks of color announced the arrival of the dawn, the pale burn of scarlet across the sky reminding him of spilled blood-fresh blood, _her_ blood. Damian knew why he was restless. The memory of the night, just a little over a year ago now, when he'd been kidnapped by Matthew Berkeley Jr., had been plaguing him lately, reminding him over and over about how lucky he was because _his _father-while far from perfect- was nothing like the monster that Matthew Berkeley Jr. was.

But it was not guilt and shame keeping him from falling asleep this night. In fact, in the year that she'd been home, the dark emotion had only gotten worse. And it was only getting worse the more and more that he was around her. It plagued him, this _emotion_ burning inside him. Oh, he knew what this emotion was. _Love_. He _cared_—about her feelings and well-being, about making her happy, about _her_ in general. This was that whole _love_ thing he kept hearing about. The uncertainty, the confusion. The burning, the agitation. This was what Alfred meant when he'd told him how love was when one "felt so much for one person that it overwhelmed nearly everything else."

And it felt absolutely _terrible_ he thought.

Oh, he was no coward, Damian reminded himself. He was a well-trained crime fighter, a formidable warrior by circumstances of his very birth. He had fought the likes of his grandfather and the Black Glove. He'd proven a worthy adversary for the likes of the Joker and Hush. Surely he could handle caring about someone _other_ than his father, or Dick and Alfred. It wasn't like caring about Raya was going to kill him, or make him any less formidable as a crime fighter. Just like it wouldn't kill him to do something that showed her just how much he really _did_ care about her.

It was Valentine's Day-a holiday he saw absolutely no point in-a day when people all around the world were busy showing the ones they loved how much they loved them with sappy cards and candies with words on them. Sappy and campy was _definitely_ not his department, though. It was up to Todd to handle that whole roses and romance thing-not that Damian actually believed the Outlaw was capable of the woo woo stuff that girls apparently liked.

But he did want to do something meaningful, something that was personal that would express how he felt. The question, he asked himself, staring out the window, was what. There was music playing at the end of the hall. John Williams, he thought-the love theme from _Attack of the Clones_. Hearing that slow, harmonious melody gave him an idea. Ideally, he would have preferred never stepping foot inside the Berkeley Estate again. But there was an item Raya had mentioned to him-a silver music box that she'd been forced to leave behind when she had fled her father and his abuse.

It was a present that had been given to her by her mother on their last Christmas together. It was something that Damian knew she wanted back but would never retrieve herself because of the dark memories and emotions her family home dredged up. _And she'll never ask any of us to retrieve the music box for her because she will see it as a trivial and selfish request_, he thought. That was why it was the perfect item for _him_ to give to her. It was personal and filled with meaning. It said he cared without all that gushy, mushy crap.

Fired by his purpose, Damian strode out of his bedroom, down the hall, moving with the rush of youthful impetuousness. He heard voices as he passed his father's study-Drake was likely briefing his father on what information he had uncovered during his stakeout the night before. But then he heard that feminine voice that he knew could only belong to Raya. _I don't have much time_, he thought as he headed down the stairs. If he was quick, he could get to the Estate, retrieve the music box and be back in time for breakfast. They'd never know he was gone. He moved through the house, into the kitchen where something baked in the oven that had his mouth watering, and out the front door, followed only by his loyal companion- a big black dog named Titus.

* * *

"This super prison leaves a bad taste in my mouth the more and more I learn about it," Raya Kean said, settling on the arm of the chair in which Tim Drake sat.

"Given the very size of the structure and the amount of inmates that are going to be released, this has the ear markings of _disaster_ of epic proportions written all over it. Especially since how the prison is to be maintained, the amount of guards, medical personnel and doctors that are expected to be employed in order to maintain order has not been discussed as of yet."

"Gordon has no information whatsoever about how the prison is to be guarded?" Tim asked her.

Raya gave a shake of her head and looked down at him. She could hear how tired he was in his voice. She shifted, so she could stroke a hand over the back of his head, feeling the soft bristles of hair tickling her palm. She hadn't quite gotten used to this new look of his. Short cropped hair was only one of the changes that Tim had undergone in the last six months though. Mentally, the changes were more subtle and easier to accept. But the physical ones? Those were taking some getting used too.

"No," she said softly. "But we can hash over this more later. You're exhausted. I can hear it in your voice. Go get some sleep."

"It's been a long night," Tim admitted with a tired smile.

He tilted his head to rest it against her side, seeking more of her warmth and comfort and was satisfied when she draped her arm around his neck and lightly rubbed at his shoulder.

"How come you aren't wiped out by the way?"

"Dick and I were supposed to have the night off..."

"Wait.." he angled his head to look up at her. "You mean nights off _actually_ exist in our line of work?"

"They do when a certain _somebody_ needs a certain _someone_ else to attend to JLA business for them."

Her lips curved as she cast a glance over at the man currently going through a stack of papers at his desk. Bruce glanced up, a wry smile curving his lips.

"I was needed in Gotham and couldn't attend the meeting. Dick was the logical choice of who to send in my place."

"But on _Valentine's_ Day, Bruce?"

Bruce sat back in his chair, amused despite his exhaustion.

"I didn't think you bought into the whole Valentine's thing, Raya."

"I don't."

He knew her view on Valentine's, knew that she considered the day to be nothing but a capitalist's dream in commercialism.

"But Dick has been promising that he'd take me to see how things were shaping up with the circus now that it has come into his possession. And for the last three months there has been one reason or another for why he couldn't. Valentine's seemed the perfect night for us to go since I knew that you were going to be home and Barb out of town seeing Auntie Babs."

Bruce's lips twitched. "I can't help that Clark called a last minute meeting."

"You coulda told him that tomorrow night was better for you to attend the meeting," she said dryly.

Tim was about to make a comment when the sound of his bike being started outside caught his attention. He glanced first at Raya, who looked as baffled as he felt, and then over at Bruce who was frowning.

"Uh, if the three of us are in here," he said. "And Damian is in his room asleep, who the hell is trying to steal my bike?"

"I have the feeling that the one you assume is in his room asleep is the one borrowing your bike."

Raya went to the window, drew back heavy drapes in time to see the small figure that barreled out the front gates atop the modified Honda prototype that was Tim's pride and joy.

"And before you say he wouldn't dare take your bike, you should pause to remind yourself about everything else that Damian has done in order to _annoy_ you."

"_Son of a bitch_..."

Raya glanced over her shoulder when she heard his vitriolic curse. And clicked her tongue in a perfect imitation of Alfred's form of disapproval.

"Such language, Timothy." Her tone was playful, the look in her eyes mischievous. "And in front of a lady, too. For shame."

He shot her a dirty look. "_Not_ amused." He got up to stalk to the window but Damian was already well out of sight by then. "Where in the hell could he be off too?"

"I have no idea where he is going," Bruce gritted. "But he is _definitely_ grounded."

Raya turned her head to look at him. She'd been hearing that particular phrase a lot lately and felt sorry for the boy.

"Hear him out first, Bruce." She phrased the suggestion carefully, knowing she was treading on boundary lines. "He could have a very good reason for taking Tim's motorcycle and leaving."

Bruce turned his head to fix her with a stare that was filled with exasperation and worry-a _father's_ worry.

"I don't care what his particular justification is for taking Tim's motorcycle and leaving, Raya."

He kept his tone light, told himself she was only speaking in favor of Damian because she cared for him. But this wasn't a situation where he could be lenient. Damian had to learn that there were rules that had to be obeyed, guidelines that would teach him how to function as an adult. And he had to learn to accept that breaking those rules and guidelines came with consequences like groundings.

"He left without permission and knows that that is not allowed."

"Something has been bothering Damian lately."

Raya felt a twinge of guilt for making even that vague of a revelation. Trust was a big issue that was shared by father and son. It was something that once earned was more valuable than all the money in the world.

"Alfred says he has been more quiet and withdrawn as of late," she sighed. In for a quarter, in for a dollar. "And I know he's been having difficulty sleeping."

Bruce frowned. Why hadn't he heard about Damian having trouble sleeping?

"Define what you mean by _difficulty sleeping_."

Uncomfortable, she moved her shoulders, frowned.

"Well," she hedged. Bruce saw just how much betraying even a simple secret as this bothered her. And smiled to himself. _The secret keeper_.

"When Damian stayed with me last weekend, he maybe slept a total of four hours." She felt Bruce's gaze on her back and looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything to you sooner but he _asked_ me not too." She felt a tingle in the pit of her stomach, knew it to be guilt. "I was only trying to respect his wishes and leave open the door for him to talk about what was bothering him whenever he felt that he was ready."

"He wouldn't tell you why he was having trouble sleeping?"

She shook her head. "He adamantly refused to answer whenever I asked him why he thought it was that he couldn't sleep."

"He's just being a pre-adolescent male," Tim said with a shrug. "We're moody and snotty and difficult-or moodier and snottier and three times as difficult in his case."

"I'm well aware of how moody and snotty and difficult the male species can be, Timothy." It was said on the end of a long-suffering sigh. "I've only been blessed with _six_ of you _moody_, _snotty_ and _difficult_ males here."

A pointed look over her shoulder told Tim just which of those males she found to be the most difficult of all. He grinned and mouthed; "_And_ _where do you think Damian gets it from_?"

Raya snorted a laugh before saying; "I think this is something besides adolescent hormones in Damian's case."

"Okay." Curious, Tim turned towards her and folded his arms across his chest. "What else could it be?"

"Damian's biggest issue is his lack of social skills." Raya perched on the edge of Bruce's desk. "He's struggled from day one to find his place among this family."

"Nearly killing me-" Tim began, ripe temper blooming in the depths of his eyes, in his tone of voice.

"Was the manner in which he was taught to earn respect from someone he saw as a potential competitor or interloper by his _mother_." Raya cut in. "We've shown him better, and he has been trying to do better."

And while Damian did tend to directed violent and nasty attacks at Tim, she also had come to realize that the boy _did_ care for him. He just did not know how to show that he cared. She said as much when she said, "He doesn't know how to show that he cares. Violent behavior _is_ his nurtured nature. It is what he knows best."

Was it any surprise that she had put so much thought into analyzing the little creep's behavior? _She cares about him_, he thought with a small twinge in the pit of his stomach. _She wouldn't try to understand him if she didn't care about him_. That was part of _her_ nature, he knew. What interested Raya she pursued with an intent that bordered upon fanatical. And what she didn't understand she studied. Damian both interested and baffled her, but because it was in her nature, she nurtured and protected as she worked at figuring out the problem and analyzing it.

"So," he said slowly. "You're thinking that he's struggling to figure out how to show someone he cares about them without resorting to his usual tactics. And he is freaking out because he doesn't know what to do or who he can go to, to ask for help."

"In a nut shell, yes."

Raya looked over at Bruce, tried to read his thoughts but found that they were closed to interpretation. _Like always_. But she knew that it had to sting to think that your own son didn't feel like he could come to you with a problem like this.

"He knows that you care about him, Bruce. He knows that you will do anything for him, give him anything within your power to give. But-"

"We haven't yet forged the type of bond necessary for him to feel comfortable with coming to me with a problem like this," the billionaire interjected with a small sigh. "You are not saying anything that I have not already told myself, Raya."

"That he chose to stay with _you_ over Talia shows how badly he does want to form a relationship with you, Bruce." Her lips curved as she lowered her head, touched her lips to his forehead. "It is just going to take time and the one thing that neither of you has in much abundance in order to build that relationship: patience."

"Hey, what about me?" Tim complained. "Kid stole my bike and Bruce gets the kiss on the forehead? So not fair."

"You don't get a kiss on the forehead for your motorcycle getting borrowed without permission." Raya said with an impish grin. "Now had Damian knocked you off the bike when he took it, I might have been inclined to give you a kiss on the forehead and a lollipop."

"Funny," Tim said sourly. "So funny that I forgot to laugh in fact."

"Wow, somebody sure needs a nap."

The way that Tim and Raya interacted with each other reminded Bruce of the way that Barbara and Dick interacted. There was still love there between them, a great deal of it in fact. But it was not the kind that sprang from passion. This was deep and true, built from the heart and nurtured by the soul. They were close, he thought as he watched them.

The body language, the looks, the way in which they teased or bickered with each other told him that they had successfully navigated the murky waters between_ lovers _and _friends_. That they continued to support each other, still cared deeply for each other, would always be there for the other provided him with a sense of security, of comfort. Should anything happen to him, he knew they would be there to take care of each other.

"Children," he said lightly. "Can we focus here about what to do about Damian?"

"Yeah, Red Blunder." Raya nudged Tim with the tip of her toe. "Focus."

Tim made a grab for her foot, intent on retaliation, but Raya pulled her foot away and stuck her tongue out at him. Tim heaved a sigh and looked at Bruce.

"So," he said before shooting an evil look in her direction. "Where should we begin to look for Damian? He could be anywhere at this point."

Bruce heaved a sigh. "I have a feeling he might go looking for Talia."

If there was any one person that Bruce did not want to have to deal with at that moment it was Talia al Ghul. Not with how exhausted he was. But there was no other choice, there was nobody else he would-or could-send after the boy if he had chosen to return to his mother. But Raya already knew where the boy had gone.

"He went to my family estate, actually."

Two sets of blue eyes turned to her-one set filled with mild curiosity while the other was so naked and raw with emotion that it stopped her, pierced all the way through to her soul. And caused her heart to ache, one slow, twisting ache. _Why is it so hard for you to tell your boys just how much you love them_? she asked him silently. _Anyone who looks at you can see how much your boys mean to you. So why can't _you_ tell them how much they mean to you_?

"How do you know that he headed to your family estate?" Bruce demanded. "And why would he go there?"

One look at his face revealed that the adrenaline that had kept him going for the last few hours was fading into a bitter exhaustion. It was not, she told herself, a good time in which to play games with him.

"I saw the road he took when he tore off out of here, Bruce," she said softly. "It leads directly to my family estate. As to why?" She lifted her shoulders into a faint shrug. "I'm not sure."

Tim, too, was curious about why it was that Damian was heading to Raya's childhood home. But while Raya had no answer for why it was that the kid was heading there, Tim began to suspect that the reason was _her_. Damian had not been the same surly, foul-tempered pain in the ass he normally was after the incident at the Berkeley Estate. At least not with _her_. When Raya was not around he was still a hostile, volatile brat that Tim kept in his sights at all times. But when she was around…

His thoughts trailed off as the answer for why Damian was acting the way he was dawned. _Holy shit, the little creep cares about her_. And Tim realized that that simple realization explained _everything_. It explained the staged kidnapping, the escrow on the apartment she'd been buying falling through, his pushing her into dating Jason-everything made sense once the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The baby bird had come to love someone other than himself. He looked over at Bruce, knew that the last person that the kid was going to want to have come after him with this stuff going through his head was his father. But Dick was away and he wasn't sure where Jason even was. _The things I do_, he thought on a sigh.

"I'll go after Damian."

Bruce shook his head. Putting Tim and Damian in the same room was like throwing a match into a can of gasoline.

"No, I'll go after Damian."

"_We'll_ go after Damian," Raya said before she headed towards the door.

Bruce arched an eyebrow as he turned to watch her.

"And who says that you're going with me?"

"It's _my_ family home for one," she called from the stairs. "And two, you're way to tired too drive."

She did have a point, he mused. It was her family home and he _was_ to tired too drive. Not that he'd admit that out loud. Still, he couldn't resist asking her; "I thought you swore to never enter that house again?"

"I did swear to never enter that house again," she said with a resignation that made his lips twitch. "But you and your boys have a habit of making me break the promises I make to myself."

"You give in because you love us." Tim called after her. "And have an incessant blind spot when it comes to us that compel you to break those promises that you make to yourself."

"I know," they heard her say on another long-suffering sigh. "And you really didn't need to rub that particular fact in, bird brain."

"Consider it payback for poking me in the ribs with your toe."

"I'll do more than poke you with my toe when I get back."

Bruce looked at Tim who merely grinned.

"By the time you guys get back she'll have forgotten about wanting to do me physical and bodily harm," he assured him.

"You realize that women have long memories," he said to his middle son before he turned to follow Raya from the room. "And that they tend to hold grudges."

"Peruvian Orchids," Tim called after him. "They are my never-fail-to-get-myself-out-of-trouble wildcard."

Bruce merely chuckled as he headed down the stairs and out the front door to where Raya was waiting next to her car.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but for my story concept and my OFC...

* * *

Bruce was quiet on the drive over to her family home. He'd assumed, _correctly_, she thought with some amusement, that she was in as much need of a few moments of quiet as he was. Bruce had never pressed her about what had happened at the Estate a year ago, had for the most part waited until she'd been ready and willing to talk about Damian's kidnapping and her subsequent stabbing at her father's hands before asking his questions. _And that is_ _what makes_ _Batman a dangerous adversary_, she thought as she turned down the long, winding road that led to the Estate. As a whole, Bruce Wayne was not a patient man. On that anybody who knew him would one hundred percent agree. But when the man did practice and employ the art of patience was when he was his most formidable.

Bruce had a… way about interrogating people whether he was beneath the cowl or dressed to the nines in a tuxedo. It was a smooth, unexpected and nonviolent way designed to leave his prey disarmed and primed to answer any question that he might ask. He did it so fast, was so slick about it that a person would find themselves telling him what it was he wanted before they'd had time to realize that they had been carefully, systematically played. You had to be extra cautious about what you said or did because even the minutest of detail given-be it a verbal or nonverbal cue, was more than enough of a clue for the world's greatest detective to pick up on. Raya knew it was extremely rare to get anything past Batman. _And that is why it amazes me that we managed to keep me a secret those first few months that he was back_, she thought, casting a sidelong glance at him. He'd reclined the passenger seat and closed his eyes but Raya knew he wasn't sleeping. Especially when he sighed a second later and said, without opening his eyes, "you're staring at me and not the road."

Her lips quirked upwards into a smile. "I've got the autopilot turned on."

"You're still staring at me."

She rolled her eyes. "We _really_ gotta work on your paranoia issues, Bruce," she said on a long-suffering sigh. "Really kinda sad when it unnerves you to have a pretty girl staring at you."

He humphed but did not reply. Not that he needed to say anything. They had discussed his paranoia issues a thousand times before-and always ended up at a stalemate. His feelings were too deeply engrained and to much a part of him for him to simply relinquish them now. They drove the rest of the way in silence. When she pulled up to the huge wrought iron gates, Raya pressed a button on her steering wheel and watched as the gates slowly swung open. She felt absolutely no sense of homecoming as she drove down the long winding driveway. _Home_ to her was one of three places: the apartment she had in the City, her uncle Jim's house or the Manor itself.

The huge white mansion that sat at the end of the winding driveway with its row of elegant old oak trees and the lush green lawn that stretched for miles was nothing but the opulent prison in which she'd spent the first thirteen and a half years of her life. She parked the car behind Tim's motorcycle and took a moment to gather her thoughts before stepping from the car. It took her a full minute before she was able to turn and look at the house. The imposing mansion was built in the same architectural style as Wayne Manor. But where the Manor was sharp angles and plenty of glass, style, and sophistication; the Estate was full of dark secrets and ghostly whispers; it managed to be even more dark and oppressive than the Manor was, a fact which she attributed to its lacking the larger than life presences of the men who called it home.

If it had not been for her father kidnapping Damian and bringing him here a year ago, she would have chosen to have never stepped foot inside the house ever again. _But I would never have confronted my father, never seen my mother's murderer brought to justice nor obtained the closure that I so desperately needed for myself_, she told herself as she walked around the car to join Bruce on the front walk. And neither would she have opened herself up to falling in love, she realized.

Bruce saw the play of emotions that swept across her face; through those oh so expressive eyes and didn't have to wonder at the cause or direction of her thoughts. She'd avoided her former home because of the tidal wave of guilt and anger that awaited her around every corner, at every bend, in every room. Guilt and anger that he, himself knew all too well about. On the nights when his guilt and anger grew too much for him to bear, when he was restless with his need to do _something_ to burn off the emotions pounding within him, he went out to watch over the people of Gotham, to protect them from the evil that threatened to consume them.

Raya, however, chose a less violent outlet for her guilt and anger. She poured her emotions and time into various philanthropical societies, participated for dozens of different charitable organizations and volunteered her time freely at domestic abuse shelters in Gotham, Metropolis and other cities. She also tended to close ranks around the people she cared for when the guilt and anger grew too much for even her humanitarian endeavors to burn off. Her family, was, as he well knew, everything to her.

What some saw as a fatal flaw, Bruce saw as her greatest strength. Her love for the people she allowed in her inner circle, her willingness to do anything in order to keep them from harm, to keep them safe, had frequently led her into trouble. But they were also what gave her the strength to keep fighting, got her up when she was knocked down, and rallied her back into the fight. But while Bruce recognized that her family was her foundation of strength, he also knew that they were the single greatest weapon an enemy could use against her-in the same way that his enemies used _his_ family as a means to hurt him.

"Raya..." he set a hand on her shoulder-the same shoulder that her father had shredded with a kunai he'd intended to bury in the back of his youngest son.

The wound healed but left behind a scar that Raya wore as a reminder and a symbol- a reminder about how survival can come with a deep price and a badge of courage for how one could rise above the violence. Just thinking about that night-about all of the things that could have and _did_ in fact happen-had the familiar stirrings of anger begin deep in his soul, heating up his blood and causing his heart to pump harder, faster. Only his iron will and years of training kept him from going to Blackgate Penitentiary and beating Matthew Berkeley to a bloody pulp.

"You don't have to go in the house with me. You can stay out here if you prefer."

Raya heard the edge in his voice, recognized it as a sign that his temper was on the rise and reached up, took his hand with her own and lightly squeezed his fingers.

"Stop thinking about the negatives from that night," she soothed. "And start looking at the positives that came _out_ of that night."

The heart of this Fenix was one part wisdom mixed with one part knowledge and tempered by justice and a deep-seeded love of humanity. It was a constant that Bruce knew would never change, no matter how old she got or how often adversity tried to knock her down.

"You have always seen the world as being like a glass half full," he murmured.

"I've seen the world as being like a glass half empty, too."

As the memory of the long months without him welled to life inside her, she felt her throat tighten with the grief and sadness she'd refused to recognize, and had never allowed herself to feel. She told herself she only had to reach out and touch him to know that he was right there beside her. Dark and moody, and just as dangerous as ever. Was it any wonder why the girl she'd been had always felt so safe in his presence?

"It was very hard to remain optimistic during the months that you were gone," she said softly. "Walking into the cave and not seeing you brooding in front of the Bat-computer was a hard enough pill to swallow. But walking into the Manor or the penthouse in Wayne Towers and not seeing _you_, not being able to speak with _you_, not being able to touch _you_?" She shook her head. "_That_ was absolutely unbearable, Bruce."

He'd avoided discussing the months he had spent lost in time for a reason. And seeing the naked and raw emotions, the vulnerability stamped upon that staggering face reminded him about why he'd avoided the subject. He would have done anything in his power to still those emotions. And anything, nearly anything, to lift that quiet sorrow. He wanted to see her smile, to see that little spark of mischief that had enchanted him that first Christmas Eve she'd spent at the Manor. More than anything he wanted to see her _happy_. She'd had so little happiness in her life really. But discussing emotions was a subject that was uncomfortable for him-a fact which all three of his sons, Alfred and Barbara lamented over.

"Raya-" he began but she cut him off with a soft, but firm;

"No. Not this time, Bruce." She turned to face him. "I need to say this. And I need you to let me say it."

There had been a time when she wouldn't have forced him to listen to what she wanted to say. Because she knew how hard it was for him to discuss his own emotions, much less listen as others conveyed how they felt-specifically about him. But she'd promised herself that she would never again bury her emotions, that she'd spend every moment she could telling-showing- her loved ones how much she loved them.

"I know you have a hard time with discussing emotions-especially your own. And normally I wouldn't push this on you. But we've been tap dancing around this subject for the last year. And," she glanced back at the house, heard its sly whispers and cruel taunts, felt its cold and grasping fingers biding her to come closer and didn't quite stifle the shudder that wracked her body. "I want to get this off my chest before we go get Damian."

Bruce saw her shudder. And understood that part of her reason for speaking about her feelings was because of the emotional toll the Estate was placing on her.

"What is it that you want to say, Raya?" he asked in a gruff voice.

Raya heard the uneasy edge in his tone but saw the hard angles and planes of his face were softened by the slight curving of that full and sculpted mouth. She stepped closer, set a hand on his chest, where his heart beat strong beneath her palm.

"When I left Gotham it was always with the intention of returning one day. I spent twelve years walking a long and oftentimes very lonely road of faith just so I _could_ come back here. Every step I took, every move I made was taken with two set goals in mind: to come home to my family and to see my father brought to justice. But just when I felt like I was ready, that I was strong enough and confident enough _to_ come home," she lifted the hand she set on his chest, laid it against his cheek. "I get that one phone call that anybody with a loved one in law enforcement or the military dreads getting; the phone call that tells them that their loved one has been killed in action."

Her face carried all the weight of her grief, and went heavier yet when she saw the look in his eyes-so naked and raw with the emotions he worked so hard to keep contained. It pierced all the way through to her soul and caused her heart to ache, one slow, twisting ache. And because she wanted to, because she needed to, she slid her arms around him and held on tight.

"I learned the most valuable lesson during the months that you were away-that home was not about a building, a city, or even some specific place. Home's about family. And home, I came to realize, was just not home without _you_ there to bully and badger me."

Bruce smiled and rest his cheek against her hair. "I'm beginning to think that you might have actually missed me a little while you were gone all those years, imp."

"Humor from the dark and brooding Batman?" She angled her head to look at him and Bruce saw the glint of mischief in her eyes, in the smile curving her lips. "Hell _must_ be freezing over."

"Quiet, imp." It was said with affection, and made her feel as if she was finally, _finally_ home. She was about to say as much when a loud crash from within the house captured both of their attention.

"Sounds like Damian is in there doing some demo work for me," she said dryly.

Bruce sighed and vowed to have a serious talk with his youngest son about respecting the boundaries of private property-which included borrowing without permission and breaking and entering. "Whatever damage he causes-"

"He causes." Raya cut in. "Damian can burn this goddamned place to the ground and it won't matter much to me."

Bruce knew that that wasn't completely true but refrained from saying so. He knew her thoughts and feelings about her family home ran deep, and that they did not always qualify as rational.

"I just want to know why he is here," he said.

Raya began making her way up the front steps. "I think he came here to find the music box that my mom gave me on our last Christmas together," she said.

Taken by surprise, as it was uncharacteristic of Damian to do something generous without there being something in it for him, he could do no more than ask her; "A music box? Why would he come here to find a music box?"


	3. Chapter 3

Raya paused on the mansion's top step and glanced at him from over her shoulder. "Family actually does mean as much to your youngest son as it does to _you_." Her lips curved into a warm and affectionate smile. "But just like _you_ he has a distinct problem with saying three teensy tiny little words. So he's come to get the music box as his way of showing that he cares without _having_ to admit that he cares."

His lips twitched. "Damian has a reason for being a closed book, remember?"

"Kids got half your DNA and half his mothers," her voice was full of mischief. "It's little wonder why he has to say _I love you_ with a set of brass knuckles or a bo-staff."

Bruce snorted out a laugh. He was well aware that his youngest sons greatest struggle was in reconciling his mother's cold-blooded anger and violent teachings with his own sense of compassion and greater ideal of justice. They heard another crash come from inside the house. Bruce let out a sigh that made Raya smile. That his youngest son had not inherited patience from either of his parents was a fact that _she_ constantly lamented over.

"I don't know why you hired that crew to demolish that gatekeepers cottage," she teased. "Sounds like you could have just handed Damian a sledgehammer and he'd have handled it quite happily for you."

Bruce sighed and once again vowed to have a talk with his son about destroying private property. "I'm glad you find this amusing but let's go and stop him before he demolishes the entire house."

Raya turned and stepped to the huge white door, to that wooden portal that led into the past. She took a deep breath and imagined her emotions, both the light and the dark, coalescing into one narrow beam that burned in her soul. When they were balanced she gave the door a gentle push. It opened, opened into the huge, wide foyer. The huge, wide foyer that was nothing but marble, dark wood, and the cold, cold sparkle of crystal and silver. For a brief moment she saw her fourteen-year-old self crouch by the figure at the bottom of the winding staircase- long dark hair sweeping past the shoulders of her lab coat. She would live, all the rest of her life, she would live with that image of her mother—bleeding and broken at the bottom of the grand staircase as the monster that had done this to her circled them like a scavenger waiting to pick at their bones.

"He shot her in the hallway between our bedrooms."

It was the first time she had ever openly and willingly spoken to him about the night her mother had been shot. He-like James Gordon-had always suspected that she had witnessed her father shooting her mother, but they had never pushed her for answers, knew that the answers would come when she was ready to give them.

"But she died," she indicated a place next to the stairs with one hand. "There. At the bottom of the stairs."

Bruce heard the faint echo of hurt in her voice and turned his head to say something to her. But the words of comfort and support died on his tongue when he saw that her eyes had that glazed and unfocused look of one who was staring at the past while standing firmly in the present. Grief, he knew, was an individual process that came with five principal stages- _denial, anger, bargaining, depression_, and _acceptance_. A person could experience one, two or all five of the stages at once. And each of the stages could leave you feeling like you were riding on a roller coaster- switching between two or more of the stages, racing around others and doing loopy loops over and around the rest.

There was absolutely nothing ordinary about grief. There was no established set of rules that specified when one would enter into any one particular stage or move on to the next. Raya may have managed to traverse her way across the slippery slope of grief, but that did not mean that the grief had gone away or that she had stopped hurting. He knew that she never would.

"Raya-" when he set his hands upon her shoulders he felt the way her body was trembling. With a sigh he turned her, wrapping her in his arms and holding tight. "You don't have to talk about that night," he said quietly into her hair. "Not if you aren't ready to deal with the emotions that will get dredged up in the telling."

"I can't unpour the contents of the jar Bruce," she murmured. "Especially since I've already testified to the events of what happened that night in open court."

Only silently did she think, the thought a bitter and acidic one that had her stomach curdling like sour milk; _the majority of the events that occurred that night anyway_.

"Testifying in open court is a lot different from telling me what happened, Raya. In court you answered a specific set of questions related to the events of that night."

Bruce rest his cheek against her hair. And let out a soft sigh that ruffled the hair at her temple. He knew she was holding something back, was refraining from telling him about something else that had happened here that night. But he warned himself to tread lightly, to continue being patient with her because for all that Raya was a grown woman of twenty-seven, she was still that traumatized fourteen-year-old that'd clutched at him in grief and terror after the death of her mother.

"Telling me about what happened that night is akin to reliving the events of what happened. And just because you have begun to pour the contents of that jar onto the floor doesn't mean you are ready to pour all of the contents out."

It was code for _I-will-be-here-whenever-you-are-ready-to-talk_. That he refrained from pressuring her into telling him what he wanted to know was not lost upon her. Like all of them, Bruce Wayne came with baggage. The majority of which he carried deep within himself in the form of anger and guilt, suppressed pain, and a mountain of dark memories that were individual traumas that continued to haunt him. He rarely spoke about the skeletons in his closet, choosing to keep those memories to himself because he did not want his burdens to become theirs. _Even though he can take our burdens unto himself._ She angled her head to look up at him.

"Thank you for being so patient with me," she said with just a hint of mischief. "I know how challenging being patient is for you."

The sound of something hitting the floor upstairs was followed by a litany of inventive cursing that would have sent Alfred into an apoplectic fit. A giggle nearly burst out of Raya's throat. For a moment it danced lively in her eyes.

"I see little Robin's been receiving _quite_ the education when he's out on patrol with you."

Bruce scowled, clearly not approving of his sons colorful adjectives. Something else-books Raya supposed-thudded on the floor and was followed by a disgruntled "goddamn it." It sounded so much like something _she'd_ say that Bruce leveled a darkly amused look at her.

"Little pitchers have big ears," he said dryly.

"No shit there," she muttered, flushing guiltily. "I will have to start watching what I say when he's around or Alfred will wash both our mouths out with soap."

The idea of the staid and proper Alfred sticking a bar of soap in either Damian's or Raya's mouths made Bruce chuckle.

"Where exactly do you think he is?"

Raya glanced up at the second floor landing before slowly making her way up the stairs.

"It sounds like he's in the West Wing," she said. "Start with my father's study. I'll go and check the billiard's room."

Bruce nodded and began making his way towards her father's study. Moments later another crash occurred at the back of the house. Raya jogged in the direction of the sound, followed closely by Bruce and found Damian surrounded by a mountain of books and toppled bookshelves. The eleven-year-old stood amidst the chaos he'd caused, hands on his hips and a slightly annoyed expression upon his face that was so reminiscent of his father that it just melted her heart.

"Yanno," she said as she settled upon the arm of an overstuffed leather armchair he'd pushed by the door to get it out of the way. "If I'd known you were gonna start packing up the house for me I'd have brought along some extra boxes."

Taken by surprise, Damian jolted and spun away where he'd been removing books from the bookshelves in search of a hidden lever in which to open the hidden panel he'd found between two of the ornate bookcases that he suspected contained a hidden safe. The slightly annoyed expression upon his face didn't waver but his face flushed as he looked first at his father and then at the young woman beside him. _I am so busted_, he thought as he saw the look upon his father's face. There was no way out of the grounding that he saw awaited him once they got back to the manor.

His father wasn't going to accept that he'd taken Drake's bike and left the manor without saying a word just because he'd wanted to find Raya's music box and return it to her. Nor was he going to get time shaved from his punishment if he told his father that why he wanted to give her the music box was because he cared for her, about her. His father wasn't likely to believe that considering some of his past actions and deeds. And considering he'd been unable to find the damned music box, it wasn't like he could prove that making amends for some of those things he'd said and done had been his motive all along. _Caring seriously screws you up_, he thought bitterly. He shifted from foot to foot, feeling his face flush with heat and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "shit" beneath his breath.

"Watch your language, young man."

"Sorry, father," Damian muttered in a sullen tone.

Raya watched the interchange between father and son without saying a word. It was obvious that communication was at a major standstill between the two. And clear that father and son had not yet figured out how exactly to deal with each other within the parameters of the father-son relationship they were still forging. Okay, she decided as she stood with her hands on her hips, something drastic needs to be done to relieve some of the tension between the two. Raya reached into her pocket, pulled out her car keys and held them out to Bruce.

"I laid out your blue suit for your meeting with Mr. Fox," she said in a soft tone.

She watched as surprise flickered briefly on his face, then every inch of surprise faded and was replaced by a scowl so ferocious she felt a slight ripple of unease. But she didn't back down, not this time. Already one misstep had been taken, another could prove disastrous.

"My limo driver is going to be picking you up at one so you have time to get in a nap before you have to head to your meeting."

"Raya-" There was a warning in Bruce's voice, in his eyes. "_Don't_ interfere and _don't_," he added in a hard tone. "Try to manipulate me the same way that you do Tim and Dick."

_Obstinately intuitive man_. Fine, if he wouldn't allow some subtle cajoling, then she'd use what was irrefutable to him: cold hard logic.

"Bruce, you're both at a crossroad right now where the choices that _you_ make will go a long way towards building an open or closed line of communication with each other." She aimed her statement at them both because the blame for the miscommunication was equal in her mind. "Neither of you is hearing the other right now. So _one_ of you needs to take a step back from the situation," she gave Bruce a pointed look, clearly indicating that it was _him_ that she felt should take the step back. "And come back when you can talk to each other while hearing what the other is saying."

Bruce responded by folding his arms across his chest. Raya sighed and thought, _stubborn, stubborn man_. Well, she'd learned that with this family that one had to be adaptable. She glanced over at Damian, saw that his eyes were shuttered, his features carefully blank. "The item that you're here for isn't in this wing so you know."

"You know why I came here?" Surprise tinged the youths voice.

"I do, yes."

"Did you think that I would come after the music box when you told me about it?"

"No, I didn't," she admitted with a sheepish smile.

She was guilty of having formed assumptions about this Robin-believed him to be incapable of loving anybody who was not blood-related to him. But in the last year she'd learned to look beyond the mask he habitually wore and see the heart that lay beneath. Oh, he still pissed her off, especially when he aimed his verbal or physical attacks at Tim. But she'd come to realize that what she was feeling at those times was the same kind of annoyance an older sibling felt towards their younger one.

"It didn't occur to me that you would come after the music box until you snuck out of the manor this morning."

"Which," Bruce added in a quietly reprimanding tone. "You know that taking off on your own is against the rules. As is borrowing things without permission."

"Yea, well, it was all for nothing anyway," Damian muttered darkly. "I can't find the godda-music box," he amended quickly, shooting a surreptitious look from beneath lowered lashes at his father.

Nothing showed on his father's face but mild annoyance and fatigue. _The usual_, he thought, nudging at a pile of books with the tip of his sneaker. "I broke the rules and got into trouble for nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing, Dami."

Because it wasn't, and because he was hers, she walked to him and knelt in front of him, set her hands upon his shoulders.

"That you came to retrieve the music box means a great deal to me. It shows that you _care_."

"Of course I..." He straightened, carefully wiped all expression from his face. "I didn't decide to retrieve the music box because I care about you, Kean."

"Yes, you did, but we'll let that slide for the moment because I know how uncomfortable talking about your feelings is for you. You get that particularly annoying trait from your father, in fact." She heard Bruce snort and shot him a look from over her shoulder. "He may not say _I love you _out loud very often but I know that he does in fact love me. That he says it in all the little things he does for me, in the subtle looks he gives. Even how often he grounds me to the cave is just the manner in which he says he cares."

Damian felt like a ship that was sinking. He wanted, desperately wanted in fact, to admit that she was right. That he did care about her. But a part of him was absolutely terrified about lowering his guard, about opening his heart and letting people not related to him by blood or otherwise obligated to give a shit about him, in. And he was most especially terrified of revealing his pathetic need and want for love and warmth from his own father.

"I'm not uncomfortable," he snipped in a surly tone. "I just don't care for this line of questioning."

He'd said it with the right amount of acid in his voice. But the words lacked the required amount of heat for them to be even halfway believable.

"Alright," she said good-naturedly. "We'll change the line of questioning then. But before we do I have one thing that _I_ want to say."

He looked at her, his blue eyes deeply suspicious. "And what's that?"

"That music box you're here to find represents a memory of someone I loved in the past. Someone who was cruelly taken away from me in fact. But," her hands framed his face. "There are two people in this house right now that are much more precious to me than that music box is. Because _you_," she cut her gaze over to Bruce, smiled warmly. "And your father? You represent people I love and whom I am blessed to have in my life right _now. _You represent_ my_ present."

_And my future_, she added silently.

Damian felt an unfamiliar warmth creeping up the back of his neck. And found himself not quite able to look her in the eye. Which bothered him greatly. He'd been taught to always stare those he felt he was superior to in the eye. But he didn't feel superior to her he realized. He just felt like a normal eleven-year-old whenever she was around.

"This is that _woo woo_ stuff, isn't it?"

She laughed and nodded her head.

"Yep, this is that _woo woo_ stuff, kiddo. Which, for the record," she stood and ran her fingers lightly over the top of his head. Just a subtle touch that said _I get it_.

"You are going to like this _woo woo_ stuff one day. Just like your brothers do, in fact."

Damian seriously doubted that. Girls were, to his way of thinking, the ultimate downfall of men. One only had to look at how often his father and Grayson and Drake got into trouble because of a girl to see how accurate his supposition was. _I'm never going to become an idiot over a girl,_ he vowed. _Never_.

"So," he asked in a slightly detached voice a few seconds later. "If I wanted to still find the music box... where would it be?"

She snickered softly. "It's hidden in a secret compartment at the back of my bedroom closet."

_Her bedroom closet_. It was the one place that he hadn't thought to check. Damian heaved a disappointed sigh. "I should have known it was in such an obvious hiding place."

Raya felt her lips twitch, curve. "Not _that_ obvious of a hiding spot if you didn't find it."

Damian reacted to her statement with a supercilious smile. "I assumed you'd pick somewhere far more challenging and complex to hide the music box in."

"The hiding spot was intended to be easily found," she said smugly. "But you still need a password in order to open the compartment in which the music box is housed."

"A password?" He lifted an eyebrow into one perfectly derogative arch. "I take it the password is robin? Like it _always_ is?"

Rather than take offense at his smugly arrogant tone, as Bruce thought she would, Raya merely lifted one eyebrow and said; "Yes, the password _is_ robin. But," now her lips curved into a smirk. "In what _language_ is the password coded?"

Damian's smug expression faded and was replaced with one of immediate interest and grudging respect. "It's coded in a foreign language?"

"Yup."

"It's in a language that you would have known when you were fourteen, right?"

He knew there was only one of eight languages that she could have used for the coded password. _And I have a good feeling about which one she probably woulda used back then. _A hint of mischief flickered in her gaze. She could tell he was intrigued, could see that he was already trying to figure out which language she'd used to form her password.

"You're on your own there, _rouge-gorge._" She teased. "Now hurry and get that music box so we can get back to the manor. I was planning to make you my patented chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast."

"Chocolate chip pancakes?" He couldn't contain his excitement-he was only eleven after all-nor stop himself from asking; "With whip cream and strawberries?"

His mouth watered when she nodded. It wasn't often that Raya got to cook for the family, her schedule didn't always permit her to be in Gotham and Alfred would be aghast at the idea of anybody caring for the Wayne family when he was around. But with Alfred visiting his family in England for the next two weeks, Raya was staying at the manor in order to keep an eye on things and make sure that father and son were properly taken care of. Which meant that he'd not only get treated to chocolate chip pancakes, but other dishes that Alfred didn't normally serve because there were a number of things-like ahi tuna and salmon-that his father refused to eat. _Maybe I can convince her to make sushi for dinner tonight_, he thought with rising enthusiasm.

"I won't be long!" He called as he raced from the room.

"You'd think that Alfred doesn't make him pancakes by the way he's acting." Bruce said with some amusement after Damian had raced from the room.

"Not my patented chocolate chip pancakes he doesn't," she returned with a smug smile. "Which I recall to be one of _your_ favorites, too."

"They are one of my favorites." His lips curved. "Something else I have in common with my son it would seem."

"One of the more charming and endearing traits that you share with him, you mean."

"Alright imp, I admit that you were right."

He had to force himself to make the admission. It was a bitter tasting pill to swallow but he realized it was a pill he'd needed to take. In order to find a path that would allow him to build a solid and open relationship with Damian, he had to learn how first to listen to what his son was saying to him. Communication was the bridge they needed to build, something she knew from her own experience with the boy.

"I wasn't hearing what Damian was saying or fostering an open line of communication between he and I. And you were right to suggest that I step back and look at the situation from both perspectives before trying to reopen those communication lines."

"An admission that the Batman was wrong about something?" Raya stumbled over to the leather chair and sunk into it with a theatrical moan. "Good God, it's the end of the world as we know it."

He snorted out a laugh. "Quiet." It was then that he fixed her with a stern stare. "But while I might admit that you were right in what you said," he said. "It in no way means I approve of your manipulative methods or tactics. I want your word that you won't _ever_ try to manipulate me again."

She angled her head to look at him. The teasing comment she'd been about to make died as soon as she saw his face. She sighed as she got to her feet. "I promise," she said contritely. "That I will do my best to never willfully or purposefully manipulate you in order to obtain my way. But Bruce," her lips trembled and she found herself unable to resist teasing him now. "I'm a _girl_. _Cajoling_ is in my DNA as much as handling enemies by violent means is in Damian's."

"And just like Damian you are capable of controlling those natural impulses of yours. Because, _ainneamhag_," he said with a mischievous smile of his own. "Controlling our natural impulses is another thing that separates us from the bad guys that we bring to justice."

"Why does it not surprise me that you know Gaelic?" Raya muttered as they heard feet pounding down the hall towards them. She cocked her head to the side, studying him. "Makes me wonder about what else I don't know about you."

Bruce smiled, couldn't resist saying; "I guess you'll have to find out the answer to that by sticking around Gotham this time."

He kissed her lightly on the forehead and then went out into the hall to remind his son of another lesson in forgotten decorum: to not run in the house.

Raya frowned at his retreating back. "Not even soap and water is going to wash me away this time, Bruce," she muttered before she followed him from the room.

* * *

**Translation:**

Ainneamhag_: _Phoenix (in Scottish-Gaelic)

Rouge-gorge: Robin (in French)


End file.
